


Somnium Gratia

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Dean, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Dreams, Grace - Freeform, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Pansexual Sam, SPN Rare Pair Big Bang 2016, Season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon compliant up to 11x06. Not long after Sam's last vision of hell, he begins having dreams about a man whose face he can't see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somnium Gratia

**Author's Note:**

> Somnium Gratia is Latin for "Dream Grace." 
> 
> I cannot thank karmascars enough for not only editing, but for being willing to fight with me until parts of this made more sense. I often write things that make perfect sense to me, but don't come out right for others. Between the two of us, we managed to get this thing beaten into shape. *hugs* thank you, Karma!
> 
> The awesome art is by [brokenboykings](brokenboykings.tumblr.com). Reblog the art [HERE!](http://brokenboykings.tumblr.com/post/143274606422)

~

A steady, hollow thump struggled beneath a shroud of yellowed pine needles. It fought its way into the dead air only to be ensnared in bone-white branches.

Sam ran beneath the trees. He gasped for air and the branches snatched at the pale sound, creaking as they strained for their fallen needles. The world shuddered. Sam lurched forward, stumbling, his next steps heavy.

The wood's failing heartbeat swallowed the sound.

Sam hissed. It curled blood-red from his mouth and died an ashen gray where it caught in the greedy branches.

A howl tore free of the relentless thump, thump, thump of the heart. Needle-thin and glowing a faint silver, it slipped through the trees and rose up to flirt with the full moon.

Sam spared it a glance. His jaw clenched and his grip tightened around the hilt of a silver blade — he pushed himself faster, gulping down stale air and straining through narrow eyes for a glimpse of his prey.

The howl threaded itself through a moonbeam, and Sam spat a jealous, moss-green curse. He had no hope of the same escape if he couldn't catch the monster.

He tore his gaze away and ran faster.

The werewolf was visible now. It darted easily between the trees on legs too long and thick to be natural. Baring his teeth, Sam gripped his knife all the harder, ignoring the throb of fatigue in his bones. The werewolf was nimble but Sam was quick, and if he could just keep it in his sights—

“Sam.”

Without slowing, Sam glanced to his left. A man was matching his pace. He was nearly as tall as Sam, and seemed fairly well built. A sharp-edged crimson haze writhed where his face and hair should have been.

  
“It's getting away,” he said. The writhing quickened when he spoke. His voice was distorted, like it was struggling to be heard through soft static.

Sam swallowed hard and made himself look back to the werewolf. It scared him less than the thing beside him.

He could still see the flicker of red in the corner of his eye.

“What are you?”

“I'm a friend.”

Sam frowned. “I don't believe you,” he snapped, and surged forward.

The werewolf went down under his weight, snarling as he pinned it against the blanket of yellow needles. For a second Sam's face was buried in thick gritty fur. He scrambled to get his leverage back, but the werewolf landed a solid kick to his gut and Sam gasped, sucking in a sharp lungful of air only to choke on the rancid stink.

The werewolf tried to squirm away while he coughed. A back paw caught Sam across the face, tearing white-hot trails of pain into his cheek. Furious, Sam screamed and grabbed the werewolf's back legs, slamming it down into the earth as it tried to leap away. He reared up over it, teeth bared as he lifted his blade high into the air.

The creature let out a low whine. Startled, Sam looked down only to find a simple wolf staring back at him, tongue lolling out of its mouth, stunned golden eyes spilling over with fear.

Muffled footsteps made him look up. The man was standing before him. The wolf whined, and strained its injured neck trying to lick at the man's shoe.

Sam jolted awake, fist clenched around a blade that wasn't there.

  
~

  
“Come on, Sam. You look like shit. If you were any paler I'd be throwin' salt at you.”

Sam groaned. Dean hadn't stopped pestering him since he left his room half an hour ago. Setting the coffee pot down, Sam lifted his mug to inhale the thick, rich scent. Heat bled into his palms. Sam blew on the surface gently, teasing the steam over the rim of the mug, but he didn't take a sip yet. The last thing he needed this morning was a burnt tongue.

“Have you ever seen a ghost drink coffee?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Dean opened his mouth to quip, frowned, and closed it again. Sam watched with growing amusement as his brother visibly searched for some kind of comeback.

“I'm fine. Really. I just didn't sleep well. Had this weird dream.”

Dean refocused. “Weird how?” He eyed Sam. “Like... hallucination weird?”

“No, nothing like that, just... weird.” Sam glanced down into his coffee. “I wouldn't even say it was a nightmare, just unsettling. How's Cas doing?”

Dean clenched his jaw a little. He was a master of evasion, but he always hated having the same techniques thrown back at him. With a huff, he shook his head and stepped over to retrieve another mug from the cabinet. Sam's grip around his own mug relaxed.

It was just a dream, anyway. No need to examine it too closely.

“He's moved on to YouTube.” Dean's voice was tight, his mouth a hard line that wavered as he fought a smile. “I think he's on a mission to see every funny cat video ever made. Just before you surfaced, he was watching a bunch of kittens bopping their heads to weird music.”

Sam snorted into his mug. He watched Dean pour his own coffee and add a single spoonful of sugar from a little white ceramic bowl. There was a matching pitcher for cream that Dean kept in the fridge for him. Seeing it always made Sam smile. Dean teased him for years about the way he liked his coffee but made sure Sam had what he wanted anyway.

They wandered together into the main room. Castiel had the laptop open and was grinning broadly at the screen. It still awed Sam a little whenever he saw that expression on his face — it had taken Castiel so long to learn how to express his emotions easily. Sure, he'd been doing it for a couple of years now, but this was the first time Sam could remember Castiel sticking close enough for Sam and Dean to see it for any length of time. He really hoped it stayed that way. They were all better off together. And Dean was much more relaxed knowing Castiel was safe in the bunker — or at least knowing that wherever the angel went, he would always come home.

Castiel beckoned to them both without looking up from the screen.

“This video is very funny.”

“Yeah?”

Dean pulled out a chair beside Cas and sank into it, leaning into the angel's space to peer at the screen. Sam hid a snicker behind his mug. He could remember a time not so long ago when Dean had protested the closeness, and now Dean was just as bad about invading Castiel's space.

“Funny Cats Compil— what the hell?” Dean threw his head back, letting loose one of his deep belly-laughs that Sam rarely saw from him these days. The crows’ feet around Castiel's eyes crinkled deeply at the sight. Sam took that as his cue to slip away.

He kept hoping that if he left them alone long enough, one of them would finally break and make a move.

It was nearly 9am when Sam pulled on a pair of sweats and an old gray t-shirt. Usually he'd go for runs before the sky had even begun to lighten. The empty streets were calming, and the darkness kept him alert. Most of the time he kept to a specific path down to the main road, where he'd follow it for three miles and then cross over into the park. There was a well-kept asphalt path that snaked through the grass and cut close to the playground before it finally disappeared into a stretch of trees, but Sam never used it. Instead, he'd do a loop in the grass around the perimeter, slowing to a jog and finally a walk to let his heart rate come down before he'd sink into one of the green metal benches scattered across the park.

Today was no different, except that instead of sitting down to watch the sunrise, Sam watched the few kids already out on the playground. On a bench a few feet away, a couple of parents sat together chatting quietly. The dark circles under their eyes and the enormous coffees clutched in their hands told Sam they'd both been robbed of sleep. They watched the little ones shrieking and giggling and crawling all over the playset with an exhausted kind of fondness. Sam felt an echoing fondness of his own directed at all of them.

He liked the quiet and the solitude on his early runs, sure, but it was times like these that Sam got to remember what they were always fighting for.

One of the parents had left with their two kids and the other was trying to round up their own before Sam finally left the bench. He got a drink from a nearby fountain and jogged home.

On his way to grab a shower and some clean clothes, he caught a glimpse of Dean and Cas sitting shoulder to shoulder, heads bent together to watch the laptop screen, all pretense of personal space obliterated. Sometimes, when he saw them like this, Sam wondered if they had made the move when he wasn't looking. But he could never bring himself to ask. He was too worried he'd scare them away from each other if it turned out they hadn't.

He shook his head and moved on before they could see him.

Sam really loved the lazy mornings when they didn't have a case, when he could take as long a shower as he wanted and dress in pjs if he felt like it. He made himself brunch after and ate it in the kitchen, not quite ready to break the little bubble Dean and Cas had created for themselves. He lingered over dishes and brewing a new pot of coffee, took his time adding just the right amount of cream and sugar to his own, before he finally went in to join them.

Neither acknowledged Sam's presence as he pulled out a chair opposite them. One side of Dean's mouth was curled up in an odd half-smile, like it was fully prepared to leap into a laugh the second something funny happened on the screen. Castiel's eyes were wide and deeply curious, but there was also something a bit unsettled about the slight pull of a frown at the corners of his mouth that made Sam wonder what they were watching.

He lifted an eyebrow at them. When he still didn't receive a response, he shrugged to himself and took a sip of his coffee.

“So... I don't suppose either of you looked for anything while I was gone?”

Dean waved a dismissive hand at him without lifting his eyes from the screen. “Cas was on it. We got nothin'.”

“Nothing obvious, anyway,” Castiel echoed. “I'm sure we'll be hearing of more missing souls now that Amara is loose, but unfortunately we can do nothing about that until she actually takes them.”

Someone shrieked on the screen. Dean let out a laugh so sudden and hard he choked on it. Castiel just looked mortified.

“Did you know some idiots challenge themselves or their idiot friends to eat a spoonful of cinnamon?” Dean snickered, finally glancing up at Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I knew a couple of people who tried it at Stanford. If you try it I'm not saving your ass when you choke to death.”

Dean pouted, complete with exaggerated protruding of his lower lip.

“I will save you, Dean,” Castiel said solemnly.

“See, Cas has my back!”

Sam shook his head and muttered, “He's got more than that,” into his coffee. Nobody heard him.

~

Everything was made of stone.

Sam flexed his bare toes against the path. He stood right at the beginning, heels braced against an edge that dropped off into a thick darkness. He didn't dare look back for fear that it would swallow him.

The path was only two or three feet wide and made of neat, gray squares. If it weren't for a webbing of uneven cracks, every line where each block met its neighbor would be almost too perfect.

To either side of the path, millions of black-tipped points speared up from the ground and crowded into every available crevice. They choked the roots of rose bushes, lined up precisely opposite each other every three feet or so. Intricate leaves had begun to crumble, covering full blooms and sharp grass in a fine layer of ashen dust.

There were trees in the distance, placed as carefully as the bushes. It was too dark to make out any detail beyond the looming sense of leafy branches that were far, far too still.

At the very end of the path, Sam could see a wide, arched opening.

He took a single step towards it.

Light pooled out from beneath Sam’s foot, the same bright silver of the wolf's howl. Cracks knitted together and stones softened like rocks beneath running water. A cool trickle rushed along the light’s path, a tiny river all its own. It wet the first stone and then hovered there, waiting. Waiting for him to take the next step.

Sam hesitated. A few feet from where he stood, there was a rosebush that had yet to open its flowers. He watched a stone rosebud bloom and crack and decay for a million years, and in that time the trees creaked and threatened to crumble. The nothing behind him filled with dirt and clay and water, and then with life, ready to surge forward at his command.

He never turned to see his creation. It would all fall to ruin around him if he let the stones die, but he'd been still for so long he'd begun to set roots.

“Sam.”

Sam tore his eyes from the dust. There was a man standing on the path just outside the circle of healed stone. Sam's creation? He squinted at him, trying to find eyes through the haze of red surrounding his face.

“This is already dead,” the man said, spreading his arms. “You can bring it back to life.”

He held out his hand. Fear clutched at Sam's spine, forcing out a soft, broken cry, yet he found himself reaching for the man despite this. He paused with his fingers hovering over the stranger's wrist. He shook with how badly he wanted to touch, and how badly he wanted to pull away.

The man closed the distance. His palm was rough and warm against Sam’s.

They walked towards the mouth of the cave side by side. With every step Sam took, more life emerged from the stone. Roses burst into red and white and pink. The leaves shook off their dust to reveal a brilliant, wet green. Water rushed out from Sam’s feet like an eager child, giggling over the rocks and flirting with the grass along the edges of the path. It was cool and strangely soft where it curled around Sam’s toes.

They were nearing the cave when the water trickled outward to cleanse the grass of dust. It swirled up the tree trunks, washing ashen gray into chestnut brown. Droplets clung to star-shaped leaves, summer green and autumn red — and then it rushed skyward. Sam tipped back his head and watched as it scattered light across the sky. The sun was such a bright new yellow, and Sam knew he shouldn't be able to look at it. The laugh that spilled from him when he could was a strange kind of joy.

“I did that?”

His companion squeezed his hand.

Sam lowered his eyes to the shapeless red haze, and then quickly down to their joined hands. “I need to call you something, if you're going to be a regular thing now.”

“You'll see me again,” his companion promised. “But I can’t tell you my name.”

Sam sighed, but he didn't question it. There were more than enough nightmares stored in his mind — those that had already been inflicted, and those that were lying in wait — so if his subconscious wanted to throw him a few curveballs, he figured that was okay.

“What's in the cave?” he asked instead. He looked up from their hands and into the arched opening.

A red light pulsed in the dark. Sam took a sharp step back. His eyes flicked to where his companion's face should have been and found the red haze there was softer, more like rose — but it still made Sam shudder and look away.

The companion tugged Sam's hand. Sam stepped towards him. He kept his eyes downcast.

“Please don't be afraid of me,” the stranger whispered.

“I can't help it.”

“I know. Sam, don't look at the light. It's there to confuse you.”

Sam had always been exceptional at defying orders. He looked.

A charred black plunged into the light’s center. The red deepened to blood and surged forward, expanding to fill the cave. Sam staggered back, eyes wide, pulling the companion with him when his hand refused to loosen its hold.

The black splintered and reached out with spindly fingers to return the new life to stone. Sam cried out, and flung up a hand to stop it.

The companion murmured something in a low, gruff language.

Warmth surged up Sam’s arm. Silver light seeped from his upturned palm, gently, gently engulfing the light.

His companion sighed in relief and leaned all his weight into Sam's side.

 ~

Sam adored the bunker showers. The stalls were big enough to comfortably accommodate him, but small enough that it felt nice and secluded when he pulled the curtain closed. The shower heads were wide, the pressure just shy of stinging. Sometimes, Sam wouldn't even turn on all the lights when he came in. He'd hit the bulbs over the sinks and leave the rest of the room in shadow.

That morning, that was exactly what he did. Once he had the water flowing almost too hot, he was wrapped in steam and semi-darkness with only the sounds of the shower — and the lingering images of his dream — to keep him company.

Two in a row at this level of intensity was unnerving, but he told himself they were just lucid dreams. He had a few of those when he was a kid, before the visions started and he lost track of what was dream and what was real.

It was fine. _He_ was fine. These weren't visions. They were too surreal for that, and they didn't leave him in any kind of pain.

Sam wrapped his arms tight around his chest. He tipped his head back into the water and imagined there was someone behind him, that it was their arms around him. They would be warm against his back, solid and strong and... huh. Sam closed his eyes, smiling.

It wasn't the first time he'd fantasized about a male lover. Probably wouldn't be the last.

He'd be tall, Sam decided. Tall enough to hook his chin over Sam's shoulder while he slid one hand down his chest, chasing trails of water into the nest of damp curls above Sam's cock. He'd scratch his nails through the hair before dipping lower, curling his hand loosely around the base. Sam let go with one arm and got a hand around himself, sighing when he felt his cock begin to thicken in his palm.

His imaginary lover stroked up the hardening length, lingering to rub a thumb over the head. Sam kept his eyes closed so that the heat of the water became the warmth of another body — once or twice, he sank so deep into his fantasy that he nearly leaned back into someone who wasn't there.

When he came, it was with nothing but a desperate little sound bitten off behind clenched teeth. He worked himself through it with his free hand braced against the tile, drawing out every shudder before he let himself sag against the wall.

He stayed like that, eyes closed, trying to convince himself he wasn’t alone. He had Dean. He had Cas.

But when he opened his eyes, all Sam could see was how empty the stall was around him.

 ~

To distract himself from the surprising clutch of loneliness, Sam watched Dean and Castiel when he came out for coffee. Dean was showing Castiel how to make fried eggs. The angel appeared to be having a hard time flipping them without breaking the yolks, but he kept smacking Dean with the spatula when he tried to help.

“Just... No, don't... Don't stab it. Cas.” Dean stepped up behind him and slipped a guiding hand around Castiel's wrist. He tipped his head down, just a little — they were so close that Sam could see Dean's nose just barely brush Castiel's hair.

Sometimes, it truly blew his mind that neither of them had taken the initiative. Maybe he could give them a nudge — or, well, this was Dean he was dealing with. Dean might require a good solid shove. With a two-by-four.

Sam would just have to be sneaky, and hope his brother didn’t try to shoot him offhand.

After breakfast, Cas found them a simple salt and burn two towns over. It was an easy one. Only took them an hour to figure out who the ghost was, and for once the library had well-kept records. They waited until after dark to sneak into the cemetery, and Sam left Dean and Cas to do the digging. He didn't miss the way Castiel's eyes darted over Dean's arms when Dean threw off his coat, or how Dean's widened when Castiel just whipped his shirt off completely.

The bunker was only two hours away, but it was late enough that they piled into a motel to shower and sleep.

On the way back, Dean decided they were going out for ice cream. But only because “Cas hasn't tried it yet, Sammy!” They were low on funds, neither of them had a fake card. While Sam had enough to get them all their own sundaes, he lied so that Dean and Cas were forced to split one. This resulted in some amusement — Castiel stole the cherry, much to Dean's outrage, and Dean taught Castiel how to “sword fight” with the long spoons so they could battle over who got the last bite of ice cream.

Great. Dean was basically teaching Castiel how to be a kid. Cute and all, but definitely not Sam's goal.

~

Over the next few days, Sam upgraded to shoving, sometimes in a literal sense — twice he pretended to 'trip' so that he slammed into Dean and Dean, in turn, fell into Cas. Both times the angel righted Dean with a steady hand to his shoulder, and Dean grumbled at Sam about his freakish long limbs.

Sam ruled out the potential two-by-four tactic after a week of this and no luck. He might scare Dean off completely. So on the last night of his attempts, Sam backed off. He ignored a few questioning looks Castiel tossed his way and retreated to his room.

It was early, barely after 8pm, but Sam stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt and climbed into bed anyway. He curled up on his side, absently stroking a hand over the sheet. What would it be like to climb into bed knowing someone would be there with him? Someone who knew the life, who could hold their own in a fight? Someone Sam could count on like he could count on Dean and Castiel.

He was tired of being afraid of letting someone get close. But that fear refused to leave him.

Maybe he needed his own angel.

~

The expanse above his head was not a sky. It was a gaping wound, grayed at the edges, a bitter red beating in its center. Sam shuddered and turned away from it.

He was standing on stone. Unlike the last dream, this stone was hot and alive, as angry as the sky. It bit at the bare soles of his feet, cracks in the stone snapping open and shut and open again, uncaring if they made him bleed or swallowed him down. Either way, he would suffer.

But Sam smiled. He'd come to make it better.

Several yards away, a stone archway led into a massive circular room. Sam could make out bodiless shadows through the doorway, shapes made of iron gray and a faint, sickly yellow. They danced with pure white lights caged in threads of inky black. Each being wore a twisted mask where its face should be, bright and glittering like something from a masquerade ball.

The shadows hissed and whispered.

The lights screamed.

Sam stepped up to the threshold. In the center of the room, the man without a face was standing very still. He wore a navy blue coat trimmed in silver and fitted black pants. His feet were bare. Slowly, he held out a hand to Sam, and for just a second Sam could see himself through the other's eyes.

Barefoot sandals draped their delicate strands of gold over Sam's ankles. His dress was the deep color of garnet, flared at the waist, nearly falling to the ground in a cascade of folds and ripples. It hugged his waist and chest, the solid line of it stopping just beneath his collarbone. There it shattered into red vines that climbed his shoulders and trailed down his arms, each filled with open roses cut from lace. They were spaced at random, allowing peeks of Sam's skin to show through.

There were even little golden maple leaves scattered throughout his hair, and they glittered when Sam dipped his head in consideration of the offered hand.

The hem of his dress whispered against the violent stone as Sam strode forward. He ignored the screams and the shadows that pawed at him, confused by the presence of something that lacked agony. The companion continued to hold out his hand, palm turned upward, and Sam took it after a second's hesitation.

“I'm still afraid of you,” he said, but he let himself be drawn closer.

“I know,” his companion replied. “You're beautiful.”

Sam smiled.

“Would you like to dance?”

A light and shadow pair whirled past them. The light was writhing, growing darker as a pit of black expanded from its center. The scream it released had a stench to it, thick and heavy on Sam's tongue, like rotting fruit.

“Yeah. Okay.”

His companion drew him even closer, slotting his free arm around Sam's waist. Sam set his hand on the man's bicep and tried not to look into the red haze. His eyes flicked there once. For just a second, he thought he saw the vague shape of eyes — and then the companion whirled them in a quick, tight circle.

Silver light pooled from beneath Sam’s feet as his dress snapped out around him.

The hot stone cooled to a soft, cloudy gray. White lights burst free of their constraints, expanding and brightening until the black at their centers was extinguished. Screaming turned to song, beautiful lilting tones that made Sam want to cry and laugh and sing with them all at once. The shadows ceased their hissing and gently faded to a soft pulsing gold. Confused, they floated near the cleansed lights, uncertain now of their place.

Sam murmured, “I'm doing this? We're doing this?” and stared with wide eyes.

The companion pulled him closer. Sam’s dress whispered against the stone.

“Yes.”

The haze was still too thick to see, but Sam heard the smile in the warmth of his tone.

“Why can't I see you?”

The silver reached the sky and healed it to cool blue and soft yellow light.

His companion stopped. He ran a hand down Sam's chest to his heart, fingertips brushing over lace and silk.

He said, “You could,” and let his hand fall to his side.

 ~

Sam sat back and watched Castiel absorb the image. “See?”

“Yes, you're right,” Castiel agreed. “Are you sure I can't show Dean?”

“Cas.” Sam sighed. “I explained this. Gender stereotypes and all that other petty human stuff. Dean's pretty open and he dropped the bully act a long time ago, but this? I would not hear the end of this.”

“But I don't understand,” Castiel protested. “You look very good in that dress. It compliments your skin tone and eye color.”

Sam huffed out a quiet laugh and ducked his head. “Yeah, it was pretty. That's the point. Dean won't get it.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Castiel muttered. “I won't show him. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Sam nodded. “I knew you wouldn't judge.”

“No, of course not.” Castiel reached out and patted Sam awkwardly on the shoulder before sitting back and refocusing his attention on the laptop. “Who was the other man? In your dream?”

Sam winced. “I didn't mean to show you him. I don't know who he is, I can't see his face and his voice is distorted. I can hear him clearly but it's not... I don’t know, not right.”

“Someone from your past?”

Sam shrugged.

Castiel clicked something on the laptop, and for a moment Sam watched his friend watch the screen.

“I understand why people film their cats and dogs,” Castiel said. He was starting to frown, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows getting deeper the longer he watched. “But why do they think it's funny to film their friends doing things that often result in bodily harm?”

Sam was torn between another shrug and a laugh; he’d known a few people like that in college. More than a few. He settled for a crooked grin and a shake of his head. “Ask Dean. I don't get it, he thinks it's great.”

“Of course he does.” Castiel shut the laptop. “I think I should go back to watching Netflix. Do you have any suggestions?”

Sam gave him the first few that popped into his head. Castiel took the laptop to his room, and Sam set up his own to look for a case.

The third newspaper site he pulled up had a deep red banner.

Sam sighed. He braced his elbows on the table and slid both hands over his face. It was unusual for him to dream so lucidly, unless it was a vision. He hadn’t had one of those in years, and there hadn't been any flashes of the cage or Hell since the failed attempt to kill Amara. Even if there had been, these dreams didn’t have the same darkness.

“Damn it.” Sam opened a new window and started to type 'dream interpretations' into Google. It was iffy at best, but maybe he'd get lucky.

“Sam, why is Cas watching Once Upon A Time?”

Sam closed the new window. He felt a brief flare of guilt, but he wasn’t hiding anything from Dean, not really. It was just curiosity. “I thought he might want to watch something light, he went through a lot of heavy stuff during his binge.”

Dean sank down into the seat across from Sam and slid a plate full of burger and homemade fries over to him. Sam had never been much of a burger fan before Dean started nesting and performing his kitchen magic. Now, he was pretty sure Dean could feed him one of these very day and he'd never get tired of it.

“Guess that Emma chick is pretty hot,” Dean admitted grudgingly. He took a huge bite of his burger and tried to smirk around it. “Re's def'n'ly ho'.”

“You’re disgusting. Please try that again without the chewed up food,” Sam groaned.

Dean swallowed thickly. “Red is definitely hot. The wolf chick. And badass.”

“So you've seen some of it?” Sam pointedly did not look up from the screen as he said it.

“Shut up. I watched a couple episodes.”

Sam hid a smile behind a bite of burger. He took his time chewing and swallowing, getting his facial muscles back under control before he said lightly, “Hey, sometimes it's nice to watch something hopeful.”

Dean avoided answering by shoving what had to be at least half the burger in his mouth. Winchester evasion tactics at their finest. He waved a hand at Sam's screen and mumbled something that might have been, “got anything?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Pretty quiet right now.”

Dean nodded. They hadn't had a hunt since that quick salt and burn a couple weeks ago. As much as Dean loved having a home, Sam could tell he was getting restless. It wouldn't be a bad idea to get Castiel out for a while, either. Except to find Metatron, he'd barely left the bunker.

“There might be a haunting in New York,” Sam offered. “The state, not the city. Although if it is a haunting, it's a weird one. There are reports of things levitating all over town. No deaths yet.”

Dean shrugged. “Might as well check it out. I could use a road trip.”

“Great. Are we bringing Cas?”

Dean nodded emphatically. “Dude needs to get out of the bunker more often.”

Sam pulled up the directions to on his phone. “We can head out tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah.” Dean popped the last bite of burger into his mouth and stood. “I'll let Cas know.”

~

“I think I'm picking up something.”

Dean glanced towards the rear view mirror. Sam watched him frown before he lowered his eyes back to the road where they belonged. “Whatcha got?”

“Angel radio's going haywire,” Castiel said distractedly. “I can't make out what they're saying.”

Sam twisted around in his seat. Castiel’s brow was furrowed in a deep frown, and he had two fingers pressed to his left temple. Even though his own grace had been restored, Castiel still found it difficult to focus his abilities — especially after the battle with Rowena’s beast curse.

“Don't worry about it, Cas,” Dean said.

“They're talking about demons. And, uh... hell, I think. Maybe they know Crowley had Amara?”

“Would it be a bad thing if the angels were after her?” Sam asked. Dean tossed him a glare. Sam threw up his hands in defense. “Hey, we need all the help we can get on this one!”

“They aren't organized enough to attack her,” Castiel argued. “They keep losing leaders, and most of them haven't learned to think for themselves yet. It might end up being more of a hindrance than a help.”

“What he said,” Dean muttered. “Cas, if you get anything clear let us know. Otherwise, let's just kick back and worry about potential ghosts. Nice, easy ghosts.”

Sam huffed out a sharp sigh, but he let it drop. He tossed Castiel a concerned look that was met with a reassuring smile, and straightened in his seat. He could go for an straightforward hunt. Or, if there turned out to be nothing, just some time to relax in a new location.

It was thirteen hundred miles to their destination, and since there hadn't been any deaths and there weren't any signs that there would be, they decided to cut the drive into two days. Just after they passed the Indiana border, Dean pulled into the first dingy motel with a vacancy sign.

“Two rooms?” Dean asked. Sam could tell without looking that he didn't like the idea of splitting up, but now that Castiel seemed to require sleep it was becoming necessary. Especially since Dean refused to share a bed, and he went into bizarre little fits if it was suggested that Cas could share Sam's.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “I'll get 'em.”

The motel clerk barely looked up from the tiny old TV he had tucked behind the counter when Sam walked in. He grunted when Sam asked for two rooms, preferably a ways apart, and somehow managed to take Sam’s credit card, check him in, and take two keys from the wall without tearing his eyes away from The Flintstones.

Dean gave him a confused look when Sam handed him the key and pointed out his own room towards the end of the motel.

“It’s just down at the end,” Sam assured him. It was a long shot, but maybe if Dean and Cas had their own room — and enough space not to worry about being heard — then one of them would finally _do something._

 

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean tossed his duffel over his shoulder and cast Sam a side-look, but seemed to relax when Sam smiled. “See you in the mornin’. Cas! Grab your bag!”

 ~

Sam didn't dream that night, or if he did he didn't remember. He woke once around midnight, freezing for an instant when the silence in the room set off alarm bells before he remembered Dean and Castiel were in their own room. He listened to his own breathing since he didn't have theirs, and stroked the empty space beside him with an absent hand.

 ~

Sam had never actually seen Castiel in the morning since he moved into the bunker. The angel didn’t even come out of his room for the first few weeks, and after that Sam and Dean had been off hunting, or Sam had already been up and out for a run. He always saw Cas after he'd woken and gone through his morning routine. As far as Sam was aware, Castiel was fairly alert and ready for the day when he woke.

So when he knocked on Dean and Cas's door the next morning, he wasn't expecting the disaster that greeted him.

Castiel's hair was spiked and frizzy with static on one side, and almost completely flat on the other. His coat was hanging off one shoulder, the buttons of his dress shirt done up only halfway. The bags under his eyes that never seemed to really go away these days were darker. He stared blearily up at Sam like he was a mutant specimen that either required study or squashing and snarled, “ _What?_ ”

Sam blinked. “Uh. You ready to go?”

“Did you bring coffee?”

“No?”

Castiel slammed the door in his face.

Sam blinked. Slowly, he turned and tossed his duffel into the Impala's trunk. Dean and Castiel's bags were already there, but Dean hadn’t been in the office when Sam checked out. He hopped up on the Impala's hood, and after a few minutes Dean came around the corner, bearing a tray with three to-go coffees.

One of them was visibly larger than the others.

“Hey,” Sam greeted. He took the coffee Dean handed him gratefully. “So. Cas?”

Dean worked his coffee out of the tray and set it on the roof of the car. “You met the monster?”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, that's a pretty accurate description.”

Dean yanked out the massive coffee and tossed the tray into the front seat. “He'll stay like that until he gets caffeine. And he's just like you, gotta load it down with cream and sugar.” He strode over to the door and pounded on it. “Cas! Open up, I got your—”

The door opened just enough for a hand to snatch the coffee away. Dean held his hands up in the white flag. “Whoa, Cas, careful that’s really… hot. Yeah, okay.”

Dean bumped the door open with his foot. Castiel lowered the cup and beamed.

“Thank you, Dean,” he murmured, low and warm, and took another, slower sip.

Dean grinned. He scrubbed a hand through Castiel’s hair, not so much fixing it as evening out the mess. “No problem, buddy. Let's roll.”

~

It was early evening by the time they reached their destination, a small town just a few miles west of Ithaca. Dean immediately declared that it was too late to do anything useful and dragged them all out to the nearest bar, where Sam learned that alcohol now affected Castiel just like a human. A happy, drunk angel turned out to be far more amusing than crap motel TV. He sat back with a beer and watched Castiel plaster himself all over Dean after only three beers and two shots of whiskey. Dean grumbled and swatted at him a few times, but never made any kind of real effort to push him away.

By the time they left, Dean and Castiel were drunk enough to be stumbling. Sam herded them into the back seat and dug the keys out of Dean’s pocket, which he really, really hoped Dean didn’t remember in the morning.

“Qui… quit coppin’ a feel,” Dean mumbled, and then he sniggered and fell into Cas, who immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Sam rolled his eyes and bit back a grin. “I didn’t think you could get this drunk anymore,” he said as he finally yanked the keys free.

Dean hummed and threw an arm around Castiel’s waist, which meant they were officially snuggling. Sam was tempted to take a picture on his phone for proof. He was pretty sure he deserved some kind of brother of the year award for resisting.

There were only two motels in town according to the info Sam had found on his phone the night before. They'd passed the first one on the way in, but the second was only five blocks from the bar. It was called The Pillowtop Inn, which wasn't at all promising, but Sam went in and got them two rooms anyway. He hauled Dean and Castiel into the first one, didn't even bother turning on the light as he dumped them both on the same bed and threw their duffels in after them. Dean mumbled something vaguely like “thank you” and slung an arm over Castiel's back.

“Idiots,” Sam grumbled with a fond shake of his head. He went to retrieve his own duffel.

The room was just as terrifying as Sam predicted. There were quilts of varying sizes and colors stapled to the walls. The bed was draped with its own massive, patchwork quilt. The headboard, which was nailed into the wall, was vaguely pillow-like. Even the shower curtain was a quilt, protected by yellowing plastic.

Sam sighed, “Oh yay, my very own padded room,” and shut the bathroom door. There was no way he was taking a shower in that thing.

 ~

The room was made of bile-green vines. Thorns as wide as Sam's thumb glowed a faint, pulsing red at the sharp tips. There was no door and the ceiling was so low that Sam’s head nearly brushed against it as he turned, looking for any exits. He had his boots with him this time, which was good because the vines kept shifting, thorns biting relentlessly at the thick soles.

“I gotcha,” Sam murmured, and took a step forward.

The light didn't come.

“Sam?”

Sam turned turned to face the companion. He lifted both hands and cupped Sam's face, brushing his thumbs over Sam's cheekbones.

“Do you need some help?”

The red haze was a little fainter now. Sam shuddered, but he still leaned into the touch. He wanted it, he wanted... god, he didn't know. Everything, maybe.

“I don't have the light,” Sam said with a helpless spread of his hands.

“Of course you do.” The companion stepped closer and slid both hands into Sam's hair. He tipped Sam's head down so that their foreheads were touching. Sam could feel the presence of a face, an _identity_ , yet nothing but soft red filled his vision.

“Can you help me find it?” Sam pleaded.

His companion nodded. He stepped back and slid his hands away. Sam found himself shuddering at their loss only to have them offered to him again, palms upturned. Sam took both in his, focusing on the firm grip rather than the eerie sense of his companion's eyes watching him from behind the mask.

“The light is a part of you,” his companion said. He squeezed Sam’s hands, and just like that he could feel it spilling out of him, pooling from his feet and the joining of their hands.

Sam sighed softly as he watched the light seep into the vines, turning them to a fresh green. The red light faded, and in place of thorns bloomed massive, violet flowers, each with a soft gold center.

“It's beautiful,” Sam marveled.

The companion whispered, “ _You're_ beautiful,” and squeezed Sam's hands again.

~

Sam was relieved to discover the next morning that Castiel had enough power to prevent his and Dean’s hangovers, though it didn't stop the angel from being a grumpy monster until Dean brought him coffee. Which, it turned out, was all that was needed to break the case.

“It's what?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, and handed Castiel his coffee. “A Wiccan. We're not the first hunters to come through here checkin’ out weird events. Jenny works at the coffee shop; I told her we're bringing Cas by just in case she's lying, but I think she's harmless. Guess there is such a thing as good magic?”

“There is,” Castiel mumbled into his coffee. “Witchcraft is to be feared, but true Wiccans are gentle people. If she is what she says, there's nothing for us to hunt here.”

“Huh. All right. Think you're up for a mind scan?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, I can... check her out.” Then he added, so low that Sam almost didn't hear him, “Though I'm sure you did that already.”

Dean must have missed it. He looked extremely confused when Sam cracked up.

“Wait, so — heheh — if she's harmless, why is she making things float around?” Sam stifled another snicker when Dean glared at him suspiciously, eyes flicking between Sam and Castiel for a moment.

“Apparently her girlfriend is into this stuff too, and when they get, you know—” Dean gave them a lewd grin, “ _physical_ , they let out little power bursts. Guess they've been trying to control it, so, you know. Practice.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Castiel glared at Dean, which just set Sam off all over again.

Castiel only had to take one look at the tall brunette in question to clear her. He got another coffee for free for his trouble.

“So, we just drove thirteen hundred miles for a Wiccan,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“Yup,” Dean replied cheerfully. “But hey, we got out of the bunker, Baby got some time on the asphalt, and Wicca-chick told me there's a waterfall and a good place to swim a few miles from here.”

“I could go for a swim,” Sam mused.

Castiel looked surprised. But when Dean meet his eyes in the rearview, he nodded.

The falls turned out to be small, but it crashed down into the pool below in a stunning display of foam and rainbow. Long, yellow grass grew right up until a few feet before the water, where large boulders and a bank of smooth, colorful rocks took over. The waterfall was far enough away that the pool was mostly still, and so clear that Sam could see right to the bottom, even in the deeper places. He was a little surprised no one else was there. But then again it wasn't too hot, and it was a weekday.

“I'm goin' in!” Dean yelled, stripped down to his boxers.

“I don't think I can swim,” Castiel said, though he too was losing his clothes in an eager rush that kept getting him tangled.

“I'll teach you,” Sam offered.

Castiel followed him into the water. It wasn’t as cold as Sam expected, more the pleasant side of cool.

“I know the mechanics of swimming,” Castiel said, “But being human taught me that knowing how to do something and actually doing it are very different.”

Sam stopped when the water was just over waist height and turned to face Cas. “Yeah, you can read about something all you want, and sure, it’ll help, but it’s just never going to be as good as actually doing it.

“You ready?”

Castiel nodded once. Sam smiled encouragingly. “Great. Just remember, I won't let go until you're comfortable. We're going to start with floating.”

“All right.”

Sam put a hand on Castiel's back, and with his other guided him down into the water. The angel tensed the second he lost his footing. One hand shot out and grabbed at Sam's forearm before Castiel drew in a sharp breath and forced himself to go still.

“Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Sam assured him. “I freaked the first time Dean did this with me. You're doing great. Just relax and let your arms drift out to the sides. I'm gonna step back a bit, but I won't let go, okay?”

Castiel nodded again. He let go slowly, but nearly made a grab for Sam’s arm again when he tried to back away.

“This feels very strange,” Castiel admitted.

“Once you relax it's really kinda nice.”

Nearby, Dean let out a whoop and leaped off a rock, curling into a ball just before he hit the water.

An hour or so passed with Sam slowly getting further away until Castiel was floating on his own. After that, he took to the water easily. Sam wondered if maybe the sense of weightlessness in the water made it a little like flying. Castiel seemed surprised by how quickly he learned, and Sam telling him he was a “natural” didn't seem to abate that reaction.

“Are you having fun?” Sam finally asked. Castiel nodded. “Great. Then go have fun and quit wondering why.”

Castiel smiled. “All right.”

The angel dove in and headed out towards the area Dean seemed to have claimed as his territory. Sam went in the opposite direction, backstroking lazily until he bumped into a boulder. He braced his back up against it and watched Dean surge forward to dunk Cas. The angel came up sputtering and flailing, splashing Dean right in the face, and Dean splashed back like Cas had done it on purpose. The situation went downhill from there.

“God, Dean, just kiss him already,” Sam muttered exasperatedly. “Stop pulling his damn pigtails and do something.”

Dean had pulled Castiel into the shallows, and was now attempting to hold the squirming angel down long enough to smear mud all over him.

Sam rolled his eyes and began swimming back towards dry land. Sometimes, he was convinced that Dean had never matured beyond the age of eight.

There was a nice, shady spot under a tall boulder where the grass was thick and soft. Sam stretched out on his back and tossed an arm over his eyes as he let out a contented sigh. He could hear Castiel laughing, and Dean cursing, but he didn't bother getting up to see if Castiel now had the upper hand.

Aside from Dean and Cas, there was nothing but the occasional birdsong to break the quiet.

Sam's breathing deepened. Slowly, he became aware that he could no longer hear his brother or Castiel, and that the birds had stopped singing. Frowning, Sam removed his arm and let out a startled yell when an ashen sky stared back at him. The rock he was sleeping by was crumbling as he watched. When he rolled to his feet, he could see that the lake was dried up, and the sand was red and glowing faintly.

Sam cursed. That was too many eerie red lights in too many dreams to be coincidence.

“Okay, where are you?” Sam called.

“I'm here.”

Sam turned. The stubborn haze remained, just a shade lighter than before.

“You're more aware this time,” the companion said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “You're not... You're real, aren't you?”

The companion nodded. “Do you want to fix this place?”

Sam frowned at the neat little side-step, but he kinda did. It was exhilarating every time he cured the darkness. It felt right, purely right, in a way that didn't come with stipulations or bizarre addictions.

“I want to know who you are,” Sam insisted anyway.

“You will.” His companion reached out and grasped Sam’s shoulder. “You're figuring it out. I think I can wait a bit longer.”

Sam's eyebrows rose in question, but all he got was a firm squeeze before the grip slid away. He waited a moment, as though his stillness might coax forth an answer. When it didn’t, he sighed and indicated the lake with a wave of his hand.

“It looks like where I fell asleep, if it died.”

The companion nodded. “You came in more consciously aware. The last few times you were much deeper in your subconscious.”

“Does that mean I can't fix it?”

“No, you can still fix it. I can help you.”

The companion reached out with both hands. After a second's hesitation, Sam took them. It was the strangest thing, to be equally drawn to and afraid of someone. He didn't know whether to grip harder, or rip himself away.

“Don't think about it,” the companion said. “If you think about it you'll falter. Just feel it. The light.”

Sam nodded. He started to close his eyes but that felt wrong, so he left them open. He focused on the hands in his. They were warm and strong, not unlike the silver light. The thought caught in his mind and then it was spilling out of him, out of them. He watched with wide eyes as the light rushed outward in a circle, bringing grass back to life, filling the lake, clearing the sky. The red light shone stubbornly from the water, but all Sam had to do was reach out and gently take it.

Love it.

“That's right,” his companion whispered. “Love. Hate will never be as strong as love.”

Sam would never know if he woke up because of the shock of those words, or because Dean had corrupted Castiel and let the bastard pour a mysteriously convenient bucket of water over his head.

~

“Making buckets to dump water on sleeping people is not okay!” Sam grouched as he stormed into the motel room. Dean was still laughing. Castiel trailed in behind him, so smug that Sam couldn't decide if the expression was annoying or kind of funny. He was perfectly clean, of course, while Sam was sporting odd plant life from under the water in his hair, and Dean was smeared with mud and sand.

“I get first shower!” Dean yelled, barreling past both of them. Sam made a grab for the back of his shirt and missed. He cursed when Dean slammed the bathroom door on a triumphant laugh.

“Jerk!” Sam yelled before it occurred to him that he had his own room and his own shower. He chuckled, amused despite himself.

“Cas, can you tell him I went back to my own room?” Sam asked.

Castiel absently agreed — he'd already been distracted by the laptop.

Once safely tucked away in the tiny world of his own shower, Sam braced his hands on the steam-warmed tile and let his thoughts drift to the man in his dreams.

Since his first appearance, there had been three consistencies; the man himself, the silver light in one form or another, and the eerie, dangerous red light. A couple of times, hell, even three times Sam could write off, but it was becoming too frequent. He'd had enough experience with visions to recognize when something was Other, and these dreams had officially qualified as just that… But what the hell did that make them? Were they good?

Aside from that first dream, they all seemed to involve healing, and that silver light always won over the red. Loving it away. Sam found himself shuddering and smiling at the same time. There was something fantastic about the idea that love could really do such a thing, fantastic and ridiculous. He had a flash of memory, Dean saying “ _We're working on the power of love,”_ in all his sarcastic glory because they both knew all the love in the world wouldn't solve a damn thing.

But what if it could?

Sam tipped his head back. The hot water streamed over his face and into his hair, down his back. He imagined for a moment that it was a touch, and shivered when his mind brought up the companion. He let the image take shape, imagined the man was standing behind him, tracing fingertips down his spine. The companion's face would be buried in his shoulder, or his hair; that's why Sam couldn't see him. His instincts screamed that he could trust, that he was safe, but his mind said no, this was dangerous, he needed to let it go.

Interesting. It was usually the other way around.

Sam closed his eyes. He told himself it was because the quilt posing as a shower curtain was kind of scary and molding, not because he wanted to sink further into his fantasy.

He hadn't let himself think this way in years, resigned to the idea that he would never have anything more than the occasional one night stand. Dean and Castiel — his family — would have to be enough.

Now, Sam remembered the way his odd companion had cupped his face in the room made of vines. How good it felt to be held like that. Even the gaze Sam couldn't see made him feel cherished. He'd meant to reach for the soap, but instead Sam let one hand trail down his body. His fingers traced over collarbones, pecs, the lines of his abs. His stomach muscles clenched as he dragged his touch through the thatch of hair above his cock, but he didn't reach down to take himself in hand. He didn't want sex. He wanted intimacy.

Well. He wouldn't complain about sex, either. But it wasn't what he _needed_.

The water was running cold by the time Sam finally stepped out. He wiped a hand over the mirror so he could look at himself, and thought again that if Dean could find someone, so could he.

~

Sam came to awareness tucked in the cradle of a massive root. His hands were laced together loosely over his stomach, one leg dangling down towards the ground. The wood was warm and soft, not as though it was rotting, but like it was giving just enough beneath Sam's weight to be comfortable.

Above him, massive green leaves tangled together to form a canopy that allowed just enough sunlight through to warm his face. The leaves shifted in a breeze too high for Sam to feel. They murmured as they brushed against each other, quiet pleased sounds, the shadows dancing with the spots of sun to create intricate patterns against the trunk. It, too, was massive, so wide that Sam was certain he could have comfortably fit a small town inside.

It occurred to him that he should move, but he was reluctant. It was peaceful here. He didn't want to see the other side of the tree.

“Are you here?” Sam whispered.

The companion crawled up the root on all fours. His feet were bare. When he reached Sam, he straddled the root and swung one leg forward, rubbing his toes over the top of Sam's foot. It tickled. Sam giggled and squirmed away.

“I like it here,” Sam said, smiling.

The companion nodded. The red haze was fading, and when the sun played over the mask it appeared almost pink. “I like it here, too,” he said. His voice was familiar, if only for a second. “But there's something wrong.”

Sam gave a single, tight nod.

The companion slid forward and pulled Sam’s leg up onto the root. He linked his fingers over Sam’s foot and pressed his thumbs firmly into the arch.

“Mm, that's nice.” Sam shifted so his foot was on his companion’s thigh.

The thumbs digging into the ball of his foot paused. The companion lifted his head. For just a second Sam could see eyes, obscured by the haze but clearly there.

“Sam.” His companion leaned forward and then quickly back again. “This is the first time you haven’t been afraid of me.”

Sam drew in a sharp breath and sat up so he could brush his hand over the man's bicep. He was wearing old jeans and a simple black t-shirt. He was warm when Sam touched the back of his neck.

“I want to know who you are,” Sam murmured, and like a punch to the gut his fear returned.

The companion sighed. He stood smoothly and leaped down off the root. After a moment's hesitation, Sam followed.

“If you wanted to know me, you would,” his companion said. “But I don't blame you. I'm just... I can't wait much longer.”

He hopped over a low root, making his way towards the other side of the tree. Sam followed without thought.

It was there that he saw why he hadn't wanted to move.

The other half of the tree was ashen and crumbling. Roots were twisted in on themselves as though they'd recoiled in agony. A series of pulsing red veins flowed through the bark and down into blackened soil. The sight made Sam ache. He reached out and pressed a hand to a root, only to jerk back in surprise when it turned to dust beneath his touch.

“Help me.” Sam whirled to face his companion. He held out both hands, pleading.

“Of course,” the companion agreed. He took Sam's hands.

Sam smiled shakily. His companion's palms were warm, his fingers rough where they wrapped carefully around Sam's wrists.

“I love you,” his companion said, and Sam cried out when the light didn't come from his feet or his hands, but from his entire being. It electrified him, made him clench around the companion's wrists as he struggled to stay upright under the assault.

“Does it hurt?” his companion called, but Sam only shook his head.

“No!” he laughed, exhilarated. “No, it feels amazing!”

The dust that had fallen when Sam touched the root rose up and healed itself, arching in a gentle curve over their heads. A healthy brown spread along the root and up into the trunk, but Sam lost track of it from there. He was too busy staring into the red haze, remembering that he was afraid, and knowing that he was falling.

“Do you...?” Sam choked on the words.

“Yes,” his companion assured him. “I really do love you.”

 ~

They’d been back from the non-hunt for a week, and the dreams weren’t showing any signs of stopping.

“You okay, Sammy?”

Sam looked up blearily from the computer. His hair was sticking out at odd angles from where he'd run his hands through it repeatedly. A few books were piled behind the laptop, one open roughly in the middle, the other two stacked crookedly and shoved to the side. Around the laptop were pages of notes, scratched out so hastily that Sam could barely read them. That was actually kind of comforting — it meant Dean couldn't read them at all.

“Yeah, I'm good,” Sam sighed, offering up a tired smile. “Just researching something. Probably nothing.”

Dean frowned. He glanced at the mug sitting by Sam's right hand--the biggest one they had --and reached out to lift the coffee pot Sam had brought into the library. It was nearly empty.

“Dude,” Dean growled.

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Look, seriously, I don't think it's anything, but the second that changes I swear I'll tell you. Okay? It's just... dream stuff.”

One of Dean’s eyebrows twitched upwards in question, but to Sam’s relief he took the vague answer with a nod and a crooked grin. “Who’re you dreamin' about, Sammy? My money's still on Brad Pitt.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “He's not my type,” he muttered, because he was kind of sick of not saying anything. He'd never tried to hide it, but he hadn't exactly come out and discussed it, either. “If we're going with stars it'd be Mads Mikkelsen, or maybe Dicaprio, and I know for a fact that you have erotic dreams about Dr. Sexy so you can just shut up right now.”

Dean's eyes widened. “Wh... I do not!”

“Dean, I have heard you say things in your sleep I never needed to hear. Ever.”

It was probably an unnecessary jab, but the flush that pooled in Dean’s cheeks was totally worth it.

Dean pulled out a chair and sank down opposite Sam, eyeing him with no small amount of trepidation. “You don't care?”

“That you're bi? No, I don't care. Or bi-curious, I never was sure. You do love your women.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah. Um. Thanks. So you...?”

“I like everything,” Sam said simply, because he was pretty sure words like _pansexual_ would require too much explanation for Dean.

“Huh. Okay.” Dean crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “Isn't Mikkelsen that guy from Hannibal? He's like fifty.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered, “Sammy likes older men!”

Sam smiled sweetly. “Yes, Dean. And you like ancient men. Or at least ancient beings now comfortable with being called a man.”

Dean froze. Leer still locked in place, arms tense, only his frantic gaze an indicator that something was wrong.

“What,” Dean gritted out through his teeth.

Shit, that was too strong a reaction, he'd pushed too far. Sam beat a hasty retreat by eyeballing Dean like he'd lost his mind. His brother stared right back for a moment before he relaxed enough to let the now frankly alarming look slip from his face.

“Whatever,” Dean muttered. He snatched up the coffee pot and stomped off towards the kitchen.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and looked back at his notes.

He'd found a few meanings for red over the last few hours, all fairly typical: anger, love, lust, a sign of danger. Silver apparently meant intuition, which didn't make any sense in the context of his dreams. Gold meant healing. That at least made a little more sense, even if the color had only appeared twice.

Sam cursed under his breath and slid his hands over his face.

Did the red over the companion's face mean love? He said he loved Sam, but Sam was afraid of him. Was the red light meant to be a warning against the stranger? Maybe the whole thing was an elaborate trick, and it was the red lights that Sam should be paying attention to. But why? Who could the guy possibly be to—

A dart of dread pierced Sam right in the chest. His head came up from his hands with a jerk, eyes wide.

“Please,” Sam hissed. “Don’t let it be you.”

~

It was midnight. When Sam looked up he couldn't see the moon or any stars, but knew in that funny way of dreaming that there weren’t any clouds, either.

Every surface of the carnival sprawled around him was covered in swaying yellow lights. A few yards away, Sam could see Dean aiming a pellet gun with the full knowledge that it was weighted to throw him off. Castiel stood at his side, smiling softly, one hand splayed between Dean's shoulder blades. Dean fired once, knocking down the metal disk. He grinned when Castiel leaned over to whisper something in his ear, but didn't let it distract him as he took aim at the next target.

Slowly, Sam turned in a circle. The carnival appeared fairly normal. There were several food carts behind him that blended into games like the one Dean was playing across from him. People and their kids were running back and forth, yelling and laughing, leaving peanut shells and half-eaten snow cones littered in their wake. In the distance, Sam could see a massive Ferris Wheel towering over the tents and carts. The lights decorating it were red, deep and harsh. It cut a swath of crimson over the gentler yellow, and Sam found himself turning away in alarm.

His companion was standing behind him. The haze covering his face was so thin that Sam could make out wide, frightening eyes.

“Sam, I need you to see me.” His companion took a step forward and reached out, cupping Sam's face in his hands. “Please. The only reason you can't see or hear me properly is because you don't want to. I'm not the one doing this.”

Sam swallowed hard. “I'm scared of you,” he said softly.

“I know,” the man said, and Sam was startled into looking back into those eyes. He sounded like he was in agony, and the part of Sam that was purely empathic wanted to help him. “Of course you are. If I were who I used to be, that would be very smart of you. But I'm not, and I need you to see me, Sam, please.”

He stepped back, taking away the warmth of his touch. Sam only just stopped himself from following.

“Okay,” Sam whispered. His throat was too tight for any kind of real sound.

Sam closed his eyes. He had no idea what to do. He focused on whatever fear, whatever barrier he'd resurrected to keep this person's identity at bay, and willed it away.

“Is it working?” Sam asked.

His companion chuckled, warm and nervous. “Open your eyes and find out.”

Sam did, and met a familiar blue gaze.

The betrayed sound that tore out of his throat was too harsh to be called a scream.

~

“Sam! Sammy!”

Sam's eyes snapped open. It took him a second to realize he was yelling — something that sounded vaguely like a twisted “no” — and that Dean was hovering over him. When he turned his head he found Cas in the chair beside him, both hands curled around Sam’s shoulder. His eyes were wide, and they didn't calm at all even when Sam managed to swallow his cries and sit up, pawing away notes that were stuck to his cheek.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked urgently.

Dean leaned in closer and laid a hand on Sam’s back. “You were yelling.”

Sam drew in a shuddering breath. He reached up and latched a heavy hand around the back of Dean's neck. Dean relaxed into it, murmured “Sammy,” and rubbed his hand in slow circles.

“Lucifer's back.” Sam closed his eyes when he said it, unable to witness whatever expressions might appear on Dean or Cas’s face. “Not out of the cage, but back in my head.”

“Shit!” Dean lurched back and out of Sam’s hold. “This is what you were researching, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but look, Dean, I didn't know it was him,” Sam said quickly. “I swear, I had no idea. I couldn't see his face or hear his voice properly. I guess my subconscious was trying to protect me. I only finally saw him in this dream.”

Dean eyed him suspiciously for one tense moment before drawing in a deep breath and nodding. “Okay, Sammy, I believe you. I—”

The trill of a generic ringtone cut Dean off. Frowning, he dug his phone out of his pocket. Whatever he saw on the screen made him roll his eyes.

“Crap,” Dean muttered, and punched the answer button. “What?”

Sam could just make out an eruption of curses and frantic words in Crowley's unmistakable accent. Dean looked startled — and then briefly impressed — before his expression morphed into annoyance and appeared to stick there.

“What... Crow — dude, slow down.” There was another flurry of words. Dean frowned. “I'm putting you on speaker,” he said, suddenly deadly serious.

“— bloody healed, are you listening to me? And there's a pack of souls running around defying demons, and oh, yeah, there are these... these things. Not angels or demons or anything, what the hell did you morons DO?”

“I've heard the other angels talking about something happening in Hell,” Castiel mentioned, leaning in towards the phone so Crowley could hear him.

“Something, sure, that's one word for—”

“Wait, slow down, what exactly is happening and how long has it been going on?” Dean interrupted.

“Apparently a while, but none of the idiots downstairs thought to alert me sooner. I don't bloody know what it is, it's like someone is trying to heal hell.”

Sam froze.

“Heal?” he repeated faintly.

“Yes, heal. There are these places, all bright and cheery and alive. None of my demons can touch it, they turn into those gold... _beings_. I have hordes of souls fleeing into them, do you understand what a disaster this is!?”

Gold... Sam's eyes widened. The masquerade ball. He and the co— Lucifer, they had turned the demons into golden beings. They had saved them.

“Oh my god,” Sam breathed, shaking his head sharply. “No. I can't have... no way.”

“No?” Castiel tilted his head. “Sam?”

Sam just shook his head again. Dean hung up on Crowley mid-rant and tossed the phone aside.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“My dreams,” Sam murmured. “I was healing these horrible places. And in one of them, I turned the demons into these gold things. Kind of like souls. It wasn't just me, it was the... it was Lucifer, too.”

“Why would Lucifer help you heal hell? Better question, how is this even a thing you can do?”

Sam shook his head. “I don't know. The first time I dreamt about it I just walked, and this silver light went ahead of me and healed everything it touched. It felt natural, I didn't even have to think about it. The third time I had to be a little more deliberate because I was starting to realize I was actually doing something. Then I started doing it with him, and that became normal too...” Sam shook his head again, hard.

“Perhaps you should go back to sleep?” Castiel suggested. “Maybe you can find out what he wants. If you show any signs of distress I will wake you.”

Sam glanced at his brother. Dean looked dubious, but he gave a tight nod.

“I can help,” Castiel offered, lifting two fingers towards Sam’s forehead.

Sam nodded, and laid his head down on folded arms.

~

He remembered this place.

The stone path was gone, replaced by a shallow stream that trickled over his bare feet. All the trees around him were laden with life, soft pink flowers and some strange, purple fruit shaped like apples. Sam stepped onto lush green grass and pressed his hand against rough bark, just to feel the grooves of it dig into his flesh.

“I didn't expect you back this quickly.”

Sam drew a slow breath. Above him, leaves whispered as a gentle wind urged them to dance. The place had breath and bones, but it was too quiet, it needed... _companions._

“You can't do anything to me here,” Sam stated. “Cas will wake me up if you try.”

He turned, letting his hand slide down the bark. Lucifer appeared just like Sam remembered, except that his face was whole and healthy. He held up both hands and offered a careful smile.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he assured. “That's why I stopped trying to contact you directly. I didn't mean to trigger your memories of hell. I just wanted to know if there was a way to release Adam and Michael from the cage, and to offer my help with the Darkness.”

Sam frowned. He took a step forward and then immediately back. “How do you know about the Darkness?”

“I knew the moment she was released, and I, ah... I have been rummaging in your memories a bit. It occurs to me that I probably shouldn't have done that.”

“You think?” Sam snarled. His hands curled into fists and he wondered if he could hurt Lucifer here. “Humans call that a violation.”

“Yes, you're right. I apologize.”

Sam faltered, his fists relaxing slightly. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop... being agreeable. What do you really want?”

Lucifer tilted his head. It reminded Sam eerily of Castiel. “I want what I said I wanted. I can explain, if you'll allow it.”

In that moment, Sam ached for his faceless companion. He leaned heavily back against the tree. The grooves dug into his skin and he winced, letting the pain ground him.

“I don't have any reason to trust you,” Sam said.

Blue eyes narrowed. Lucifer stalked forward, stopping just shy of arm's length. He met Sam's gaze and it was Sam who flinched back, shoving his shoulder blades against the tree like he could sink inside and escape.

“I will never lie to you. I will never trick you,” Lucifer said quietly. “I meant those words, Sam. Even when I was Marked.”

Abruptly, he turned away. Sam relaxed a fraction as Lucifer strode to the next tree and braced his hand against the trunk, head lowered so that it was partially hidden by his arm.

“Is this easier?” Lucifer asked gruffly. “I can... I can hide my face, if it will help.”

Sam frowned. He'd taken three steps towards Lucifer before he realized he'd even moved, and had to force himself to stop.

“There's no difference between manipulation and trickery,” Sam said. The doubt in his voice was so clear it made him wince.

Lucifer sighed. “I'm not trying to manipulate you. Will you let me explain?”

Despite his better judgment, Sam took another step forward. There was a deep ache welling in his chest as he lifted his hand, fingers stretching out to take Lucifer's arm—

But he snatched his hand back, clutching it to his chest like it might betray him again.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Explain.”

Lucifer nodded. His hand shifted against the bark like he might step back, but instead he moved to the side to hide his face further from Sam's view.

It did help, not being able to see him. Sam hated himself for feeling guilty.

“When Cain passed the Mark to Dean, he didn't give it to him so much as _spread_ it to him. It's similar to a disease. It was also never meant to be contained within a human, which is why Dean couldn't resist its power the way Cain sometimes could. The Mark...” Lucifer huffed and tipped his head back towards Sam. “Can I turn around? I feel silly talking to a tree.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up from Sam's throat before he could choke it down. “Fine,” he muttered. “Just... don't try anything stupid.”

“Really?” Lucifer turned and offered a small quirk of a smile. “You went for the cliché? I thought you were the creative Winchester.”

Sam gaped at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Just...” Sam bit the inside of his lower lip and shook his head hard. He wasn't going to laugh again, damn it. “Keep going.”

“All right. You know some of the Mark's history already. You know I was the first to have it, and you know I spread it to Cain. He made it stronger by feeding it the violence from the First Blade... firsts are a very powerful kind of magic. You should probably tell Dean that none of what he did under its influence was his fault, if you haven’t already. Cain had more control, but much of what he did wasn't his fault, either. If I hadn't forced him to kill his own brother and strengthen the Mark, he might have been able to fight it off completely.”

Lucifer paused. His eyes darted over Sam's face and settled on a nearby rose bush. “I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I was only partially influenced by the Mark. In a way, it's similar to your struggle with demon blood. It was a dark part of you, and in a desperate attempt to turn it into something good you allowed yourself to be corrupted by it. What you have seen of me in these last few weeks is who I used to be, before the Mark. But...”

“But what I saw of you during the apocalypse was still at least partially you,” Sam said dully.

Lucifer nodded. Sam let out a shaky sigh and ran both hands over his face, pressing his palms into closed eyes.

He wasn't sure what hurt more — how much he wanted to hate Lucifer, or that he couldn't find the will to hate him at all.

The wind blew another gentle breath through the leaves. Sam listened to its whisper until he was able to slide his hands away from his face. They hung limp at his sides, all fight drained out of his limbs.

“We both tried so damn hard to do what we thought was right,” Sam murmured. “And we both failed so miserably.”

His gaze was unfocused, so it surprised him when two cautious hands rose and cupped his cheeks.

“I think you did better than I did,” Lucifer offered. “I murdered an entire town because I thought I was saving the earth.”

Sam shrugged. “I killed a nurse and drained her blood rather than exorcise the demon inside her. I did the same to several other people before I came to you. Who knows how many deaths I caused when I saved Dean from the Mark. Not actually seeing much of a difference here.” A soft, desperate little chuckle huffed up from his too-tight throat. “I liked it better when it was easy to hate you.”

Lucifer brushed a thumb over Sam's cheekbone. The wind picked up speed, branches creaking with the force of it, and Sam sucked in a sharp breath when Lucifer tightened his grip.

Then he was stepping quickly back, taking his touch with him. Sam cursed himself for how badly he wanted to follow.

“I don't expect anything from you,” Lucifer said quietly, his eyes downcast. He reached out to curl his hand around a rose, tickling at the petals with the pads of his fingers. “I was just hoping that maybe you still had the Horsemen's rings so that you could release Michael and Adam. I don't think Michael will be a problem now that I'm out of the picture.”

“They haven't... become demons? I mean, I guess you never did, but Adam...”

“Michael protected Adam from me before the Mark’s influence was broken. We can control the environment inside the cage to a certain level. He has been safe in a relative sense.”

“Okay.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, if only because he needed an excuse to do something. “I don't think the rings work like that. Pretty sure they only opened one way. I'm not even sure what Dean did with them after we fell; I never asked.

“But wait, go back. So you're just going to... what, keep entering my dreams and giving us whatever info you can on the Darkness?”

“That was my plan,” Lucifer said. “I'll admit it is somewhat selfish. Being in your dreams gives me a reprieve from the cage.”

“Screw that.”

Sam hadn't meant for it to come out as violent as it did, harsh enough that Lucifer looked surprised.

“You think you can just sit around down there and that makes it okay? No. Cas tried to pull that same shit in Purgatory. It doesn't work like that. You're sorry for what you've done, you want to make up for it? Then you have to be out here with the rest of us actually trying to make it right!”

Sam shut his mouth so hard his teeth clacked. His jaw clenched; the fight returned to him in the curl of his fists. He wanted to punch Lucifer in the face. He wanted it for all the wrong reasons.

“Would you ever trust me?” Lucifer asked softly.

And there it went again, all his anger gone in a rush. Sam closed his eyes with a sigh as his fists relaxed. Sometimes, he missed the purity of the days when he was always angry.

“No,” he admitted, just as soft. “Probably not.”

“What if I fell?”

Sam's eyes snapped open. “What?”

“I can fall. Before you take me out of the cage, then you'll know it's safe. One of you would have to carry out my soul, and you'd need something to hold my grace so that it could be of some use to you. There would just be the problem of creating a body. I just don't know how you would reach us without the rings.”

Creating or finding a body wouldn't be a problem, not with the entire bunker at their disposal. “We can get in,” Sam muttered, distracted, all the possibilities running through his mind at once. “There's a back door into hell, and Dean's got this... weird thing with Crowley. I just... This whole thing could be a trick. This.” He swept out a hand to indicate the trees. “All of it. What was the point of this, anyway?”

“I didn't do this.” Lucifer tapped the rose with one finger. “You did. I encouraged it, but this was all you. I'm not entirely sure how. It has something to do with my grace inside you. You were able to use it to interact with the whole of me.”

“You created it, so theoretically you could change it… Okay. But that doesn't make any sense, I had another angel inside me for a while and Cas was able to sense the grace he left behind. Why couldn't he sense yours?”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. He turned to stare straight down at the rose, snapping, “You shared yourself with another angel?”

The wind stopped dead, shrouding them in an eerie, muffled silence. Sam had a moment of complete disbelief as he realized the environment was shifting with his reactions.

“You're _jealous!”_ he exclaimed.

A new, agitated wind ripped through the trees, tearing several leaves free. One spiraled down and landed smack in the middle of Lucifer's forehead. He blinked, and plucked the star-shaped greenery from his face.

Sam laughed so hard his knees buckled.

“Sam?”

“I've lost it again,” Sam gasped. His sides ached. Wrapping his arms around his middle did nothing to help, but he squeezed tighter anyway. “That's gotta be it. I've lost it and that's why I'm talking to a jealous _you.”_

Lucifer huffed out a soft laugh and tapped Sam's nose with the leaf. “I promise you haven't lost anything.”

“Sure.” Sam sucked in a steadying breath. “The other angel wasn't something I actually agreed to, okay? Dean tricked me into saying yes because I was dying.”

“Ah.” Lucifer twirled the leaf between his fingers. He opened his mouth, then shook his head sharply and said, “Castiel wouldn't be able to sense my grace in you, not as he is now. When he was a full Seraph, maybe, but not unless he was looking for it. It's... different with archangels and their true vessels. And it's difficult to explain in human terms.”

“Fine, whatever.” Sam thrust out a hand suddenly. “Help me up.”

Lucifer stared at Sam's hand for a good thirty seconds before cautiously sliding his own into it.

“You know, you could will yourself into standing,” he said drily as Sam heaved himself upright. “This manifestation of yourself isn't actually physical.”

“I know, I'm just... too aware, I think.” Sam tried to pull his arm back but Lucifer tightened his grip, frowning down thoughtfully at the curl of his fingers around Sam's wrist.

“I have something that might help you trust me,” Lucifer said. “You may interpret it as a trick, but... I have nothing else to offer.”

He started to let go, and it was Sam who tightened his grip this time.

“Fine.” Sam tugged and Lucifer took a stumbling step into his space. “What is it?”

Slowly, Lucifer took another step. He smiled when Sam didn't back away. “It's a kind of sharing. I can show you who I was, and who I am now. But I will also be able to see all of you. If at any time you want to expel me, all you have to do is wish it.”

Sam frowned. “That sounds too easy. That could be a trick, too.”

“Sam...!” Lucifer grit his teeth. “I swear I mean it when I say I will never lie to you or trick you. Even if it hurt you, I wouldn't.”

Something about that made Sam pause. There had been times over the years when Dean tried so hard not to lie to Sam, but wound up doing it anyway out of a deep desire to protect him. Part of Sam appreciated that need — he'd done the same thing for Dean, after all. But the idea of someone telling him the truth, no matter what...

“Okay,” Sam said softly. “What do I do?”

“Nothing.” Lucifer let go of his wrist and cupped Sam's face, bending his head down until their foreheads touched. “Just try not to fight it.”

And that was all the warning Sam got before it surged into him.

It was heat and piercing sound and static. Sam screamed with the force of it. A ringing began to fill him, seeking out all his empty spaces until he screamed again to try and expel it.

_Sam._

Sam shook. The voice called again through the shrill ring, so soft that it should have been drowned out.

_I love you._

Just like that, the ringing stopped. In the distance, Sam could hear a low, rough song, alone when it was meant to be part of a whole. The loneliness of it made him ache. He reached for it, grasping at it with every part of himself until he could _see._

He saw Lucifer, new and vibrant and eager to meet his siblings.

He saw love, so much love spilling out of this new angel, so much that he wanted to give.

He saw the world erupt into itself out of chaos.

He saw Lucifer sing with the others in praise of the new world. He stayed close to Gabriel, his favorite, and Michael, whom he looked up to.

He saw God come to Lucifer to bind the Darkness inside him. God saw how much Lucifer loved, and thought that he could hold the chaos at bay.

For an immeasurable amount of time, Lucifer was the more powerful. He watched the creatures of the world grow and change, watched the beings who would later be known as humans evolve, before the Darkness crept into him and began to poison his love.

Slowly, Lucifer grew to hate humans. They were ruining the beautiful earth. He loved only one, and that one wasn't born yet.

He rebelled to save the earth and to find his true vessel.

A sudden surge of agony made Sam jerk back and try to twist away, but the song guided him away from it, coaxing him from the Cage and all its horrors and to the moment the Darkness was released. Sam felt Lucifer's simultaneous horror and joy, and the guilt that flooded in as he remembered his old self.

He saw himself through Lucifer's eyes as he chased down a werewolf in a forest of his own making. It was built to protect himself when Lucifer drew his soul too close to Hell in an attempt to communicate.

He felt Lucifer's amazement when Sam saw the death and the pain of his dreams, and simply chose to change it.

 _I see you, too,_ Lucifer whispered. _I see you, Sam._

_I love you._

The ecstasy that abruptly filled Sam was too much — he thought that if he had been awake, he truly might have died from it. The force of it poured out of him in something like an orgasm and yet nothing like one at all. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound was released. Distantly, he felt his fingers clutch and shake around Lucifer's arms, pulling him in, catching at his neck and his hair and feeling along the part of his lips where he, too, was trying to scream.

It left him in a rush. Sam's knees tried to buckle no matter how much he told himself he wasn't physical at the moment. Lucifer caught him around the waist, holding him up even as he panted against his lips.

“What... what the hell was that,” Sam gasped.

 A quick grin flitted across Lucifer's lips. “ _Ol dalagare de en congamphlgh,”_ he murmured, low and gruff in a particular way that Sam recognized as Enochian.

“Uh huh.” Sam tried to step back, put a little space between them, but nothing in him wanted to separate from the intimacy. “My Enochian's a little rusty.”

“Essentially, it means ‘I give of my spirit,’ or my soul. There is no proper term for it.”

“Well...” Sam made himself step back. It took him a moment, but he was able to meet Lucifer's eyes with only a twinge of real fear. “It helped. I mean, it's not proof, but. It helped. But if I get in there and you don't fall, I'm going to kill you somehow. Or sic one of Crowley's hellhounds on you.”

“Fair enough.” Lucifer slowly cupped Sam's face again, chuckling when Sam didn't pull away. “Can I just... before you wake up...”

Sam's mind told him to flee. To wake, to step back, anything that would get him out of Lucifer's hold.

But just like before, his instinct was calm. When Lucifer leaned in and brushed his lips over Sam's, all he did was sigh and lean into it.

The next moment he was jerking up from the table, blinking away sleep as Castiel withdrew his waking touch.

~

Sam couldn't convince Dean that it was a good idea to release Lucifer. He tried every angle right down to any help he could give towards the fight against the Darkness, but Dean flat out refused to listen. Adam he was willing to try for, but as far as he was concerned the archangels could just stay in their cage. He yelled, called Sam an idiot for even considering it. He gripped Sam's shoulder, asking if Sam was okay.

Finally, he turned to Castiel for support, but the angel was silent. He put a hand on Dean's back and gazed at him quietly, a look that always drew Dean down to a place so deep that even Sam couldn't follow.

Dean swore. He smacked Castiel's arm away and stormed out of the room. Just a moment later, Sam heard the slam of a kitchen cabinet, and knew that one of them would be finding a drunk Dean passed out at the kitchen table later.

“You believe he's different?” Castiel asked.

Sam nodded. “We need all the help we can get, anyway. Even Michael could be useful.”

Castiel was silent for a moment. He gazed off towards the kitchen, brows pinched in a tight frown, before he lifted a hand and laid it on Sam's arm.

“I'll talk to him,” he said simply. Then, “What did Lucifer do to change your mind?”

Sam gave him a brief summary of what he saw in Lucifer's soul. Castiel's eyes widened when Sam described the connection, but something in his gaze hardened with resolve.

“I have never heard of an angel being able to manipulate what is seen or felt during a sharing,” he said. “I believe you can trust him. I will talk to Dean.”

Those words followed Sam into bed that night. They hovered there on the edge of sleep, taunting him with possibilities that he wanted to risk.

He stroked the sheets beside him, and fell asleep with his hand flat against the mattress.

~

Sam found his companion waiting for him under the massive tree. He let Lucifer cup his face and kiss his mouth, just a soft brush before he leaned their foreheads together.

“We're coming for you,” he whispered.

  
~

END

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is curious, you can see the barefoot sandal and dress pictures I used for reference [HERE](https://41.media.tumblr.com/93596040de01bfad7dbe53ecfd7e3d97/tumblr_o5hw0qV7ga1tbi3pso1_500.jpg), [HERE](https://36.media.tumblr.com/bcdd0b5dbcad073d31b10200a50dfed8/tumblr_o5hw394k871tbi3pso2_500.jpg), and [HERE](https://40.media.tumblr.com/e86a92384d24667d8a1a2a71e971cc64/tumblr_o5hw394k871tbi3pso1_1280.jpg).
> 
> I used [THIS SITE](http://www.sinleb.com/enochian/translation_index.php) for the Enochian translation. OL - o el. DALAGARE - de a el a ye a ra e. DE - de e. CONGAMPHLGH - ka o en ye a ma pe h el ye h
> 
> That haze around Lucifer's face? I originally wrote it as softer, but I liked what brokenboykings did with it way more, so I ended up going back and editing the description to more closely fit the art. 
> 
> Before anyone asks, there will eventually be a sequel, but please don't expect it any time soon. I'm doing the Dean/Benny Big Bang, the Wincest Big Bang, the Dean/Cas Tropefest, and the DCBB, and I have two more short stories and a full length sequel to write for The Trickster Verse. I'm also still trying to write the destiel sequel to Worship Him, and I'm working on a much more thorough edit of Worship Him because I'm NOT HAPPY WITH IT, lol. Oh, and I have two completed rough drafts - one wincestiel and one destiel - that I still need to edit and post. And two ficlets. Because what is life I don't have a life *faceplant*
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you liked it and leave me kudos or comments, I will shower you with cookies and hugs <3.


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